


Come In From The Cold

by honey_wheeler



Series: The Threesome in the North [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Group Marriage, Multi, Tribbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 00:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Val and I tried something new today,” she tells him conversationally, her gaze direct and teasing. It’s Val’s effect, Jon thinks; Val allows her to be so unfettered, to indulge her desires and play this role. Val removes any need for shyness. </p><p>“Oh?” Jon asks, his polite tone barely masking the hot need in his voice.</p><p>“Mmm,” Sansa hums. “Would you like to see it?”</p><p>“Gods, yes,” Jon says immediately in a naked plea. “Very much, please.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come In From The Cold

Val's cheeks are as red as apples when she comes in from the snow, Ghost bounding behind her and shaking himself vigorously and sending bits of snow and ice flying everywhere. Even as cold as it is outside, she insists on walking a bit before bed. "Keeps me from going completely soft," she says. "Besides, it's not near as cold here as it was in the North." Jon stopped insisting that Winterfell _was_ the North long ago. Colder the real North may be, but Winterfell is plenty cold enough, so Jon stays warm and dry in their chambers when she takes her walks, allowing Ghost to be his proxy. At first, Sansa had gone with Val as well, coming back with her cheeks as pink as Val's were red, but she'd given up too, and now she and Jon retire to their chambers each evening and wait for Val to return to them.

"You've brought the outside in with you," Sansa says with a smile, stepping to Val's side and brushing the light dusting of snow from Val's hair. Val throws her heavy furs carelessly aside, the thin tunic beneath clinging to her damp skin, the peaks of her breasts a sharp drag under the cloth. The sight makes Jon's mouth go dry. 

"A present for you," Val tells her, pressing one of those apple-red cheeks to Sansa's.

"Cold!" Sansa squeals, laughing and hunching up her shoulder in defense, squirming away from Val's playful attack.

"I'm an Ice Princess," Val says. "What else would I be but cold?" Sansa gives a wicked grin and snakes one hand beneath the breeches Val often wears on her walks, opening her mouth in an oh of sympathetic response when Val gasps and jerks at her touch.

"You aren't cold everywhere," Sansa purrs, and gods, Jon is hard in an instant. Sansa's hand works unmistakably, her knuckles tenting the cloth as she rubs clever fingers over Val to have her panting and twisting, her own fingers a tight band about Sansa's arm. Sansa tips Val's face to hers with her other hand, opens her mouth over Val's in a kiss so searing hot Jon thinks it could melt every bit of snow from the Wall to the Neck. Sansa has only recently begun to play at this dominant role, the shyness of her first overtures quickly replaced by practiced and devastating seduction, and it seems to leave Val as helplessly aroused as it does Jon, no matter which of them is Sansa's chosen prey. He thinks that his role tonight will be to watch - a role he enjoys near as much as he enjoys being at Sansa's mercy - but she breaks off the kiss and turns to catch him in her gaze, her eyes dark and half-lidded, her smile soft and painfully potent when she curls one finger away from Val's chin and beckons to him where he sits before the fire.

"Come, Jon," she says, with a voice like raw silk. "Help me make the rest of our wife as warm as her cunt."

"Gods," Val gasps, and Jon echoes it, closing his eyes as he struggles for control, not wanting to spill in his breeches before they've even begun. He fancies himself experienced in matters of love and lovemaking in most waking hours, but Sansa and Val have a way of proving him wrong.

Sansa is kissing Val again by the time Jon can manage to make his legs work. He can barely walk for how hard he is, something that might embarrass him had he not long ago surrendered to the potency of his wives together like this. Sometimes he imagines what the two of them might be up to while he’s stuck placating lords or contemplating musty accounts. It’s far too easy to drift into happy daydreams of them sharing company and affectionate touches, or sharing more than affectionate kisses, or better, pleasuring each other with fingers and mouths and bodies. He’s been snapped from his reverie embarrassingly often, but he’s past caring. If there’s a man alive who’d not indulge in such fantasies, Jon wouldn’t like to know him.

For a moment he only watches them, his lovely wives, as they taste each other, Sansa’s hand still tucked inside Val’s breeches. Then Sansa loops her free arm about Jon’s neck to pull him close. He kisses the soft skin behind her ear, the sweep of Val’s jaw, closes his eyes and smiles when Val and Sansa transfer their lips to him, first one then the other claiming his mouth in a kiss.

It takes him a few long moments to realize that he’s kissing only Val, that Sansa has pulled away and is no longer in his reach. Dimly, he registers his ludicrous luck; a beautiful woman stops kissing him and at first he doesn’t notice, so caught up is he in the kiss of another. Val gasps into his mouth and clutches at his shoulders at the same time that Jon feels Sansa’s weight against his shins, feels Val’s breeches pooling over the tops of his feet. Jon opens lazy eyes and looks down to see Sansa sliding her glistening fingers into her mouth, lips pursed in an obscene and gorgeous pout as she sucks Val’s taste from her fingers, her eyes never once leaving Jon’s.

“Our Val isn’t cold at all, is she Jon?” Sansa purrs, looking every inch the seductress but for the warmth in her eyes, in the way her hand curls protectively behind Val’s knee. Jon shakes his head, running his knuckles over Sansa’s cheek with naked affection, the sort of gesture he’d never dreamed would be allowed to him in his old life.

“No,” Sansa continues, “our Val is warm and sweet and perfect.”

“Lies,” Val pants. “Filthy lies.”

“Oh?” Sansa asks with a grin. Then she leans in and drags her tongue between Val’s thighs in a long, lazy curl that has Val breathing out her name. “That tasted warm and sweet to me.” Her grin takes on a wicked edge and she licks her lips. “So very sweet, is she not, Jon?”

“Like honey,” he answers roughly.

“Like honey,” Sansa echoes, her tongue tracing a path along her lower lip. “Shall I test your flavor again, to be sure?” She blinks up at Val with false innocence, and Val moans and tucks her face against Jon’s neck.

“You are a wretched tease,” Val sighs, no heat or bite in the words, only affection. She jerks when Sansa insinuates her fingers between Val’s thighs, then again when Sansa adds her mouth, peeking up at Jon with eyes the blue of the morning sky, somehow managing to seem innocent even in her seduction. She flicks at Val with her tongue, then seams her lips over Val to lick and suck, only breaking her gaze with Jon when Val cries out and tangles her hand in Sansa’s hair. Val’s body moves with sinuous grace and Jon moves with it, encouraging her, holding her up against the pleasure buffeting her in waves.

Jon finds Val’s lips again and draws her tongue into his mouth, sucking gently to match Sansa’s suckling at her cunt. His fingers meet Val’s in Sansa’s hair, and Jon loses himself in the sweet, sharp pleasure of them, the delicious ache that only they can give so well. Val peaks with a cry and he swallows it the way he would swallow them both, to make them a part of him that could never be stolen away.

Val is sagging in his arms, her knees melting to water. It seems absurd that a woman so full of steel could be so light when he catches her up; her legs wrap reflexively about his waist and she clings to his shoulders, setting the blunt edge of her teeth to his jaw and throat. He walks backwards into their bedchamber with slow deliberation, his eyes fixed on Sansa’s in a mute call to follow. Gracefully, Sansa rocks to her feet and trails after him. Jon’s footsteps stutter when she lifts her hands to the laces of her bodice, tugging each loop free with seductive languor, her hips swaying with her steps as if in a dance. Val kisses his throat, oblivious to Sansa behind her shedding clothing with each step, revealing rosy-flushed skin in bits and swaths until she walks towards him clad only in pale lawn hose, the ribbons tying them at her thighs the pale yellow of lemon cream. She’s beautiful enough to stop his breath. She always will be.

“Sansa,” he says, her name a prayer on his lips. Val hears it in his voice and twists around curiously, smiling when she sees Sansa bare, ghosting her fingertips over her own collarbone and ribs, across belly and breasts in a teasing drag.

“Our clever Sansa is bare and ready,” Val says, turning back to nip at Jon’s lips. “And I am nearly so.” She wriggles her bare backside in Jon’s grip, reminding him that she wears only her thin under tunic and nothing else. She gifts him with an impish smile that turns his heart in his chest and makes his blood rush in his veins.

“Val,” he breathes in another prayer, one just as fervent. Her lips call for his kiss and he gives it to her, thinking he can still taste the snow on her tongue, the sweet, sharp cold of the North.

“Perhaps it’s time for you to join us,” Val says, tugging at the neck of his shirt. Sansa steps behind her and hums in agreement. She slides her arms about Val’s waist, her small hand snaking between them to run over the placket of Jon’s breeches. Then she finds his laces and pulls at them with practiced fingers. Val gasps when the motion has Sansa’s hand rubbing against her, and she tightens her legs, trapping Sansa’s hand there, and Jon thinks he could burn up from the fire in his belly.

“Greedy,” Sansa laughs, sliding her free hand up to squeeze Val’s breast in sweet punishment. “How is Jon to join us in our disarray if you interrupt me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Val drawls, “is my cunt in your way?” Jon would laugh out loud if only he had the breath. Sansa chuckles, pressing up against Val’s back and doing something with her fingers that makes Val cry out. 

“Never,” Sansa assures her.

Grudgingly, Val unwinds her legs, letting her feet drop to the floor so that she stands between them. She leans back against Sansa, rolling her head to butt against Sansa’s in a manner similar to Ghost.

“If I leave it to you he’ll never be naked,” Val says with mock gruffness. Sansa bites her shoulder in retaliation, and then the two of them make quick work of Jon’s laces. Val kneels to work his breeches off while Sansa tugs his shirt over his head. Their hands on his bare skin would be good enough, but then Val mouths over his cock through his smallclothes, tracing the shape of him through the cloth with a wet tongue, and Jon groans roughly, managing to keep his hips mostly still only through force of will. Val tastes his cock while Sansa tastes his mouth and gods, he could never have enough of this. He knows it as well as he’s ever known anything.

When Val pulls away, his hips instinctively follow her. She smiles up at him before smoothing her cheek over the jut of his hipbone. “Not yet,” she says, her words a promise. She accepts Sansa’s hand and stands, following docilely – Jon never thought he’d see the day Val could ever be described as docile – as Sansa leads her to bed. At Sansa’s urging, she lies down, drifting caresses over Sansa’s arm and hip when Sansa climbs over her and settles on her knees at Val’s far side, sitting back on her heels. They both turn their eyes to him, invitation clear. He sits on the edge of the bed, wanting to touch but not as much as he wants to let Sansa lead him however it pleases her.

“Val and I tried something new today,” she tells him conversationally, her gaze direct and teasing. It’s Val’s effect, Jon thinks; Val allows her to be so unfettered, to indulge her desires and play this role. Val removes any need for shyness. 

“Oh?” Jon asks, his polite tone barely masking the hot need in his voice.

“Mmm,” Sansa hums. “Would you like to see it?”

“Gods, yes,” Jon says immediately in a naked plea. “Very much, please.” Sansa laughs in open delight at that, her eyes sparkling and alive.

“Oh, Jon,” she says, with such affection that Jon feels his throat tighten. She’s rising up on her knees and meeting him halfway when he leans to kiss her, her hand on Val’s knee for balance. “There,” she says, once she’s sat back on her heels again. She points to the same spot on the bed where Val sat and watched not so long ago, on the night Jon first tasted the heaven of Sansa’s cunt. Happily, he settles himself against the bedpost, watching them hungrily. Sansa gives him one more feline smile before urging Val back to the mattress and straddling her hips. She leans forward, pressing them intimately together, and then she begins to move.

Jon couldn’t say who it is who moans first, but three voices thread together in a rough harmony. His position affords him an excellent view and he savors it. His body recognizes Sansa’s rhythm, the way her hips work over Val’s, and his own body moves in a shallow curve of sympathy. He can see how wet they both are, and they only grow more so, Val spreading her knees wider as their cunts rub and slide over each other. Jon hadn’t known such a thing was done; had he known, his fantasies when he was away from them would have been all the more intense. Sansa’s hair is a fiery spill down her back. It curls over Val’s hands and collects between Sansa’s shoulder blades when she leans forward to capture Val’s mouth with her own. The kiss is slow, a languid dance of tongues to match the gorgeous writhe of their hips. Jon wants to taste their mouths as well, he wants to get down on his belly and lick up over both of their cunts where they’re pressed together, dragging his tongue in one long stroke from Val to Sansa so that he may taste the mingled sweetness of their desire. Gods, but they are more beautiful than Jon knew was possible.

Their pace increases, Sansa’s movements becoming sharper now, her hips snapping with each rock of her hips. She catches the laces of Val’s tunic and pulls them free, tucking the cloth beneath Val’s teats so she can trace one mischievous finger in delicate circles, until Val shivers and breathlessly laughs, telling her to stop tickling. The impish grin on Sansa’s face tells Jon it’s a familiar trick of hers, that they play at such things often. She catches the peak of Val’s breast between her fingertips and leans down to catch Val’s hum of pleasure, answering it with one of her own.

Almost unconsciously, Jon’s hand drifts to the front of his smallclothes to press just enough to take the edge off the sweet ache in his cock. Sansa has lost all of her finesse now, her seductress costume falling away as she rocks urgently against Val, her face twisted in anguished pleasure. Val cuffs a hand about Sansa’s nape and pulls her face close, Sansa’s hair a red curtain about them. Jon can hear her speaking in a low voice, though he knows that isn’t the intent; Val’s words are for Sansa. “Good,” she says, throaty and low, “so good, Sansa, you feel so good, your cunt feels so good. Come on, kitling, let me see you peak, let me feel it.”

Sansa shudders, her spine rounding as her hips jerk, her body struggling for as much contact with Val as possible. Jon’s rubbing over himself now as he watches her jerk helplessly, hears Val say, “There’s my sweetest girl, gods, that’s it.” Sansa peaks with a volley of cries, Val’s name surrounded by her whimpers. Val still holds her nape, their foreheads pressed together, and her own hips pitch up towards Sansa’s as she rides out her pleasure, each with her thighs spread wide, her legs tangled with the other’s. Then Sansa collapses – she wilts, almost, like a flower with a broken stem, crumpling gracefully atop Val, all tension in her body gone. 

They roll to the side once Sansa’s breathing has evened out, her gasps no longer quite so ragged. They lie facing each other, eyes locked together. Val’s hand as it strokes the hair lying sweat-damp over Sansa’s cheek is uncharacteristically gentle and tender, something that only Sansa brings out in her. No words are exchanged between them, but still they seem to be communing in some intimate, quiet moment, something that moves Jon’s heart even as it makes him feel almost an intruder.

“Look at you, so boneless. You’re useless to me now,” Val says at last, with such affection that Jon could feel jealous at it if there were room enough in his heart for something so petty and selfish. “You leave me wanting.” Immediately, Sansa struggles to sit up partway, her mouth open in dismay.

“Oh Val, I am sorry, I didn’t… I wasn’t-” Val stops her words with a kiss and a chuckle, pulling her back down to the mattress and licking into Sansa’s mouth until Sansa looks dazed.

“Sansa, my lovely, there are few things that give me greater satisfaction than you using me to find your own pleasure.”

“But-” Sansa starts, and Val kisses her again, insinuating one thigh between Sansa’s to slide against her and make her whimper at the touch on her still sensitive flesh.

“I love watching you come,” Val purrs. “And I love you thinking only of your own release. It’s something you should do more often.” Then she lifts up on her elbow to look at Jon, her sharp eyes taking in the flush on his chest, his hand rubbing slowly over his smallclothes. 

“Jon,” she calls. “Come up here and finish what our lovely girl started. It’s been too long since I’ve had your cock.”

“It was last night,” Sansa says sleepily, her eyelids fluttering as if they’re already growing heavy.

“Yes,” Val sighs, “far too long.” Jon laughs despite the need sharp in his gut. Val watches with lazy interest as he pushes to his knees and works down his smallclothes. She makes a hum of approval at his cock where it sits up hard against his stomach, a throaty sound that only makes him harder. He crawls up the bed and stretches behind Val, his chest along her back. It’s the simplest thing in the world to pull her leg back over his hip and move slowly inside her; she’s so hot and wet and ready that he almost peaks instantly, and he has to hold still for several long moments to regain his control. Sansa makes a soothing sound, her small hand sneaking over Val’s waist to feather along his ribs. He can see her eyes slipping closed over Val’s shoulder, but her hand keeps up its comforting sweep. The movements of Jon’s hips match the lazy arc of her hand; he fucks Val with deep, slow strokes, and she makes a pleased sound as she works her hips back to meet him. In a show of tenderness that would surprise anyone but Jon or Sansa, Val weaves her fingers between his and pulls their entwined hands over her hip to wrap around Sansa and tug her close to them.

“You’re a soft touch,” Jon whispers into Val’s ear.

“More lies,” she answers, but there’s no edge to the words. Jon slides his hand from beneath hers to find her cunt with his fingers and rub over her in small circles.

“Don’t worry,” he says, smiling against the soft skin beneath her ear when she gasps and tightens around him, her release pulling at his cock greedily and calling him to join her with his own. “Your secret is safe with me.”

It’s dark in the room when he awakes some hours later, the fire nothing but faintly glowing embers. At first, Jon isn’t sure what pulled him from sleep, but then he feels the heavy weight on his feet, pinning them down and keeping him on his side, unable to fully move. He sits up to look at the foot of the bed, though he already knows what he’ll see. Ghost opens his eyes without lifting his head from his crossed paws where they lie heavy over Jon’s ankles. His great, pale bulk covers the width of the bed, one hind foot hanging off the edge. Sansa and Val’s bare feet poke from beneath the linen sheet to rest against Ghost’s belly, his white fur engulfing their toes.

“And who invited you up here?” Jon asks. Ghost flicks one ear at him, looking supremely unconcerned. Jon has to laugh. Three beings that he loves in his life and each one knows full well that Jon is not the one in charge. He extracts his feet – Ghost seems to feel no inclination to move, merely watching steadily as Jon wrestles his feet free – and sits up to give Ghost a rough scratch, rubbing behind his ear until Ghost closes his eyes again and gives a contented huff. He’s not even stretched out and he takes up fully a third of the bed.

“Wretched beast,” Jon says affectionately. Ghost only flicks his ear again. Jon smiles and continues his scratching, crossing his legs beneath him with the linen sheet pooling in his lap. The rooms of Winterfell are as warm as they ever were when Jon and Sansa were children. When he’d first returned from the Wall, he’d basked in the heat, feeling like at any moment he could spit ice chips as he thawed, he was so accustomed to being painfully cold. Now it can be smothering at times; it makes him understand why Val seeks relief outside so often. Even now she’s worked the sheet mostly off; while Sansa has the linen tucked up under her elbow, Val is bare to the knee, her body a map of shadowy contours, the thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs a patch of burnished gold in the light of the dying embers. Sansa lies close to her side, her fists tucked beneath her chin. Jon listens to their soft breathing, inhales the sweet scent of them that permeates his life in a way that seemed impossible a year ago. As if called by his thoughts, Val stirs, lifting her head to look at him where he sits at the foot of the bed. Then she catches sight of Ghost, stretches her feet and curls her toes in the soft underfur at his belly, and gives Jon an arch look.

“Our bed grows crowded,” she remarks.

“He likes it up here,” Jon mumbles sheepishly.

“And _I’m_ the soft touch?” Her tone is tart, but a smile plays at her lips. She sits up and crosses her legs beneath her as well, showing no shyness at her nudity. Val has been many things since Jon has known her, and many of them surprising, but one she’s never been is shy. Her hand joins Jon at Ghost’s ruff and she smiles at the heavy burr that emanates from his throat at their combined touch. They scratch him in comfortable silence for long moments before Val straightens her spine and tosses her hair back over her shoulder with a sharp flick of her wrist; she has something to say that she’s been avoiding, Jon can tell. She’d not thank him if he let on he found her so easy to read sometimes.

“Our bed will soon be less crowded, in any case,” she starts, pausing as if expecting him to question her. When he only watches her with patient eyes, she squares her shoulders and continues. “Gilly and I wish to take Aemon and Abel to the Wall. They’re growing older. It’s time for them to know where they come from.”

“You mean to go north?” Jon asks, his mind stubbornly refusing to accept the idea for a moment, being parted from Val too strange and foreign a concept.

“Yes,” Val says quietly, as if she has trouble with the idea as well. “For a moon’s span at most, then we’ll return. There is no longer anything to harm us there. It’s time they know.” She sounds as if she’s convincing herself as much as she is Jon. Then she slants her eyes at him, her lips pursed in mischievous challenge. “You’ll survive without me for a spell, I trust.”

Jon chuckles quietly, mindful of Sansa still sleeping at Val’s other side. “Perhaps.” He says it to make her laugh, but he’s not sure it’s such a jape on his part. The idea of Val not being here with them is unfathomable. He nods at Sansa and says, “She’ll not let you go easily.” Val smiles fondly at Sansa, before turning her eyes to him.

“And you would?” She does not intend him to take the inquiry as sincere, he knows, but he can hear the genuine question in her voice, a question he knows she’ll not allow herself to truly voice.

“Only because I know she would not,” he answers, as honestly as he’s ever answered anything in his life. There is something girlish and sweet in the smile that Val hides by ducking her head, giving conspicuous concentration to the fingers she has buried in Ghost’s fur. Her smiles turns wistful, making her seem even more girlish. All at once Jon remembers that she was not so very old when he met her, not so many years past being a girl.

“Val,” he says, not knowing what he means to say. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear with careful fingertips.

“I thought I’d be so eager to see home,” she says, her eyes staring at something far away.

“Do you not truly wish to go?”

“I do,” she says. “Only I’d not realized I no longer consider it home.” She says it as if it’s a surprise even to her. She looks at him almost defiantly, as if daring him to laugh or make a gentle jape at her expense. Jon only leans to touch his forehead to hers, one hand cuffed around her nape where her hair grows soft and curling, like silken thread.

“We’ll miss you,” he says, knowing the words are unnecessary, but wanting to say them anyway. Wanting to say them _because_ they’re unnecessary, because Val would not expect such sentiment, nor admit she wanted it. Her eyes are closed; from so close he can only see the pale skin of her eyelids, the dark golden crescent of her lashes on her cheeks.

“It will be good for you and Sansa to have some time alone,” she says, eyes still closed. “She’s not been your only wife the way I have.”

“You do not think we’ll spend your absence speaking only of you?” Jon asks with a smile. Val gives an unladylike snort. Jon can feel the vibration of it through his hand and across his forehead.

“I know you will,” Val says, sounding more like herself. “But perhaps you’ll manage a few other activities.” Her voice is rife with suggestion. Jon gives a soft laugh, even as something in him tightens into a sweet ache at the thought of being alone with Sansa; it’s probably the only thing that could make Val’s absence tolerable. Gods keep them from ever both leaving him at once.

You’ll have to tell her,” he says at length. “She’ll be cross if she finds you kept it from her.”

“I will,” Val agrees, nodding against his forehead. “Tomorrow.” She leans forward to drop the slightest kiss on his lips, a brush so delicate he could almost believe he imagined it. “But tomorrow is not tonight.” 

Jon follows easily when she draws him down to the bed, curling with her back to his chest and facing Sansa. Once more, she weaves her fingers in his like she’d done earlier in the evening, drawing their clasped hands over her side and Sansa’s waist to press together against Sansa’s back and draw her close. Jon can barely remember ever feeling so content in all his life. He wants to stay awake, to savor this moment before Val leaves them, but sleep is heavy on his eyes. All three of them breathe evenly around him – Val and Sansa and even Ghost – the sound soothing him and lulling him towards sleep, and he buries his nose in the hair at Val’s nape, spreads his fingers over Sansa’s back beneath Val’s hand, and surrenders himself to their gravity.


End file.
